Read It Fast
Someone on AbsulteWrite posted this question:
Does anyone share my nightmare that after slaving over a manuscript for years, and grieving over every last word, you publish your novel only to have a speed reader breeze through it... ?
My answer to that:
What I really dread is for someone to spend 5 years reading my book and eventually give up. My concern is not whether my readers would read it fast; it's whether they would read it again. The sound of rapid page-turning would be a very pleasant one to me...
In a way, it's like cooking... or specifically, my dad's gourmet cooking.
During an important event (like Chinese New Year), my dad'd slave for two days in the kitchen preparing dish after dish of exquisite food for the family banquet. Sometimes even as we gather at the table, he'd still be working in the kitchen (because some dishes, such as fish, needs to be cooked just right, down to the seconds). The work he'd put into making these dishes is incredible. The details. The processes. The ingredients. The time and effort.
Then there's the eating. All it'd take is an hour for us to devour everything. The better the food, the faster it goes. And my dad gets the utmost enjoyment in seeing how we enjoy the food and how quickly we chow down everything. The sounds of our slurping, munching, or our bowls and plates clanking are like music ot his ears.
I'd like to be my dad some day. My writing is my food. And you, my guests!
Does anyone share my nightmare that after slaving over a manuscript for years, and grieving over every last word, you publish your novel only to have a speed reader breeze through it... ?
My answer to that:
What I really dread is for someone to spend 5 years reading my book and eventually give up. My concern is not whether my readers would read it fast; it's whether they would read it again. The sound of rapid page-turning would be a very pleasant one to me...
In a way, it's like cooking... or specifically, my dad's gourmet cooking.
During an important event (like Chinese New Year), my dad'd slave for two days in the kitchen preparing dish after dish of exquisite food for the family banquet. Sometimes even as we gather at the table, he'd still be working in the kitchen (because some dishes, such as fish, needs to be cooked just right, down to the seconds). The work he'd put into making these dishes is incredible. The details. The processes. The ingredients. The time and effort.
Then there's the eating. All it'd take is an hour for us to devour everything. The better the food, the faster it goes. And my dad gets the utmost enjoyment in seeing how we enjoy the food and how quickly we chow down everything. The sounds of our slurping, munching, or our bowls and plates clanking are like music ot his ears.
I'd like to be my dad some day. My writing is my food. And you, my guests!
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